There are sands all over, and there is a beautiful horse. The undulating sand is a coarse red. It is so hot that it feels like the sand is burning. But the sand doesn’t change colour or shape or form, only shifting when the wind picks it up.
In the distance are the outlines of men, so far out they are the size of ants. A group of Bedouins are travelling in a goum, walking one by one with camels to their sides. The camels pace themselves.
Mother is not standing on the sand. Instead, she is sitting on top of a horse. The horse, a speckled white, looks back at Mother, but it doesn’t move. A question comes automatically to her mind.
Why am I on top of a horse?
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Girar to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.